


Quiet on Set

by JessKo



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Blood, Broken Bones, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Talos makes the GOOD noises, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 23:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18082808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessKo/pseuds/JessKo
Summary: Your life is fairly standard, work at the hospital and spend your evenings at a SyFy themed bar daydreaming about otherworldly life and galactic adventure. Wash, rinse, and repeat. However, you can't help but wish for something more, hoping that there is more to this life, this universe, than reality lets on.So, when something that is not possibly from Earth practically falls into your lap, you can't help but take some initiative and provide medical aid and assistance to the injured being you stumble upon.





	Quiet on Set

**Author's Note:**

> I am respectful of the canon relationships in this fic, it is not an AU, so there is purely fluffy platonic cuddling and conversation.  
> Mainly wrote this to answer the what if of a lone Skrull getting hurt the field and what might happen if they reach out for help. Lucky for Talos, reader is more than glad to provide assistance and comfort.

You spend a lot of time at the Satellite Dish Bar. More than you’d like to admit at least. The food is good, and the bartender Trix doesn’t judge you for your passion. 

Your family thinks you are insane, but you are sure that there is life out there, up in space. Or at least, you hope so.

Yes, you are aware that Star Wars is just a movie, and Alien was filmed in New Zealand, but as a kid such films opened your eyes to the concept of aliens and you’ve just not been able to move past it since. Walking into the Dish this Wednesday afternoon, Trix gives you a playful wink before popping an Empire Strikes Back VHS into the player, rented from Blockbuster Video across the street. Sinking into your usual spot, you order something light and lean back, ready to relax the work day away.

When the all too familiar fanfare does not sound from the small, dented television, you look over to wave Trix down, but they are back in the kitchen, putting you out of their line of sight.

Not wanting to bother anyone, you approach the ancient television and press the volume control lightly to no effect. You rap the side of the woodgrain case, still no sound. Defeated, you turn on the subtitles and begin the march back to your spot. Before you sit down, however, you hear a groan, barely audible.

You look over your shoulder, the scene on screen not matching what you just heard. Curious, you approach the bar and peer into the back to find Trix preparing your food leisurely.

“Everything alright out there, y/n?”

You nod once, throwing them a thumb’s up and then grin.

“Good. Almost ready with the grub.”

Thinking you were just imagining things, you turn away only to hear that sound again. Whipping around, Trix gives you a concerned look. You shake your head and wander towards the side door. They turn back to their work with a shrug, figuring you are just hungry and picking up the pace with their cooking. 

Your mind is elsewhere, however, wanting to track down the source of the sounds. Opening the side door, you slip out into the alley, instantly hit with the pungent order of days old restaurant waste. You listen, only hearing the whirring of the air conditioning unit. The door shuts behind with a click as you step forwards. You look out to the street, then deeper into the alley.

Suddenly, you hear something shifting on the asphalt, the noise originating from the other side of the dumpster. You take another step forward, but whatever is making the noise calls out.

“Stop! Please, don’t come closer.” They say, grunting to punctuate the end of the sentence. The voice is strained and accented.

Gritting your teeth, you stand your ground. Whoever this is must be hurt or hiding, possibly both. Regardless, it was the most interesting thing to happen all week and you were going to stick it out.

The groans turn into heavy breathing, and you decide that you need to at least make sure this person is not bleeding out on the brink of death. Your mind races a mile a minute as you take a confident step forward. Met with no protest, you bolt around the dumpster to find a man on the ground, back pressed against the cinderblock wall. His dark suit is disheveled and greying hair messy. Narrow glasses sit at the end of his nose in front of bright blue eyes that dart up to look at you.

You can’t be certain what you were expecting, but this is certainly not it. The man grimaces, trying to sit up but wincing when he puts pressure on his arm.

You now realize some hair is plastered across his forehead with blood, and more crimson liquid leaks out of a split lip.

Acting almost on auto pilot, your training from nursing school kicks in and you kneel next to him, offering your hand.

“I work at the hospital, I can help you.” You say in a practiced tone, even and reassuring.

First, the man flinches away from out outstretched hand, but something convinces him to rethink and after he studies your features for signs of danger, he accepts your assistance. A strong hand grasps your own and you leverage your body weight to help the man to his feet.

You ask no questions, simply motion to the door and begin a slow walk that way. You recognize a definite limp on the same side as the injured arm, but stopping the bleeding is your priority as you renter the bar.

Trix has set your food down at your place, but you hardly pay it any mind as you seat the man down in the first available chair and rip open a sugar packet. Without hesitation you grab a pinch of the sugar and press it against his lip. The man’s eyes widen for a moment in surprise.

As the sugar causes the blood to begin clotting, you finally allow yourself to relax, and realize you just pressed your hands against the mouth of a stranger, leaning in close enough that their warm breaths tickle your forehead.

You tip your head up slightly to meet his eyes again and can’t quite read their expression. You feel your cheeks begin to warm. This is a handsome stranger.

Channeling all your self-control, you remove your fingers from soft lips and stand back up, taking a small step back. The pink clump of sugar and blood on his lip falls into his lap, and he makes no move to dust it off his pants.

It almost looks like he was concentrating fiercely, but on what you cannot be certain as his eyes seem almost glazed over in his focus.

“I hate to break this up but I’m not about to have a health code violation on my hands.” Trix’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife as they approach with cleaning supplies.

The man instantly jolts out of his seat, grimacing in pain at putting weight on his leg as he steps away from the chair.

“My apologies, I’m…”

“Yeah save it, just quit dying my furniture red ok?”

He nods once before reaching out, resting his hand on your shoulder for balance. Where he was sitting, the arm rest of the chair was wet with blood. You try and get a look at that arm, but the jacket sleeve obscures everything but the fact that it is wet, and his hand is tucked inside his jacket.

“I am sure that y/n would be happy to give you a ride to the hospital, right?”

You open your mouth to agree, but the grip on your shoulder suddenly tightens. He gives a subtle shake of his head. No.

You look him right in the eye, trying to ignore their pleading and say. “I have a first kit at home, it’s closer than the hospital.” You don’t know what you are thinking, inviting this stranger to come home with you, but something deep down knows he is hurt, and maybe there is a reason you are the one to find him.

Trix gives you a long, studying look. It’s not often you speak up, so for you to say that, they recognize that you are serious.

“Fine, but text me when you are all settled in. If I close up and still have not heard from you, I’m calling an ambulance.” They gave the man a harsh look. “And the cops.”

You shoot Trix a thankful smile and wrap your arm around his back for more support as you limp out to the parking lot. Once the door to the bar closes, the man seems to loosen up a bit.

“Thank you.” He says quietly between steps, a sheen of sweat reflecting in the sunlight off his face from the effort of just walking. You fear that he is in worse shape than he first appeared and key open your car, heading to the passenger side.

Opening the door, the man hesitates, but as you begin to stoop down, he follows and lowers himself into the seat. You check to make sure both legs are inside before closing the door and rushing to the driver’s side.  You slide into the seat and turn the ignition and take a deep breath. This is really happening.

The man beside you seems to grow more uncomfortable as you pull out of the parking space and merge into traffic. You spare them a glance as you travel down the street and…

Was that a green ear?

You blink and make a double take.

No, it must have been your imagination. Watching too many monster movies. Perhaps Creature from the Black Lagoon was a poor choice for 1AM last night.

Slowing down at a red light, you turn to confirm that the being beside you is in fact just a human male. You are correct, but his face is contorted in intense pain. Maybe Trix had a point.

“The highway is coming up if you think you need the hospital.” You start in a quiet voice, just above a whisper.

“Absolutely not!” the man blurts out. You freeze, snapping your head back at attention as the light shifts to green. Accelerating a bit more powerful than necessary you rush ahead. The man sighs gently.

“Sorry I just… I am not from here, I can’t go there.”

You bob your head in understanding, relaxing your death grip on the steering wheel. Hoping that you would be able to help someone in such serious condition, you turn into your apartment complex and park in front of your unit, regretting that it was on the third floor. Turning off the car, you leave your seat and help the man out of his own, this time more difficult than the first due to the odd angle. Nearly avoiding a fall, your rely on a light post to stop the trajectory of your pull and manage to lean up against the wooden pole.

“Is this your home?” He asks, surveying the area more than the building itself. With a frown, you hitch your arm around him and point to the upper balcony.

“Oh. I suppose there isn’t a lift, is there?”

With a grimace you just head straight for the stairs.

You were one hundred percent certain he had a fractured knee by the time you reached the top of the stairs. It might have been easier to just carry him up the stairs than try and pull him up one at a time as you did. Regardless, you were both red faced and gasping for air by the time you reached your floor. Unable to stand on his own, the man leaned against you, pressing his forehead into your shoulder as he huffed.

Staying like this for a minute, he finally rose back to his full height, leaning back on the guard rail of the walkway, tucking his injured hand back into his jacket. You took this as a cue to unlock your door and step inside, the man following you and closing the door behind him. Passing through the long hall, you enter the living space which had a short couch and table facing a television and the long wall unit containing your VHS collection.

Offering the man your arm for support, you lead him to the seat and help him into it. He forces a grin of thanks and removes the glasses from his face, tossing them onto the table. You sit on the table to face him, looking him over to decide where to begin. His leg seems the obvious choice and you set a pillow down next to you and gently tap his shin.

The man complies, lifting it with a grunt and you help guide it to elevation. You find it odd that he has not asked you any personal questions as most do, but then again you have not asked him any either. It was probably for the best this way, two strangers brought together by circumstance who would soon be departing, melting back into the mass of society.

You realize that you will not be able to inspect his leg through the long, dark pants that he wears and rise to fetch scissors and your other supplies. Returning with your kit, steps silent on the carpet, you catch something incredible from behind. Over top the man’s head, you see him cradling his injured hand, stretching long green digits and displaying a pale-yellow palm with a red gash across it. You stare for a long while, making sure this is not a hallucination. Your breath hitching, the man jerks his hand back inside the jacket and you look away, approaching as if you did not just see an alien appendage inside your own home.

Silently you point the tip of the scissors at the hem of the pants and make a snip in the air, looking to him for consent. Once granted, you gingerly cut into the rich fabric, slicing along the top crease.

Exposing just above his knee, you stop, setting the scissors aside. As you suspected, his knee was swollen and bruised. Having seen a similar injury many times before, you assume that he took a nasty fall just before you saw him, cutting his hand and lip in the process. The blood on his forehead probably just came from his hand, but you would check his scalp later just in case.

First thing you would need to apply a stint to prevent it from bending any further and making things worse, so you searched the room and decided on using an old piece of PVC pipe from earlier repairs made in the apartment that maintenance had not bothered to take with them. Glad you had not tossed that away just yet, you took the two-foot length and set it next to the joint, wrapping medical tape around it and the leg above and below the knee. Finished, you looked up to find the man’s eyes squinted shut, face contorted in a mix of pain and effort.

Quickly, you decide to sit next to him, and place a hand gently on his shoulder and make a soft shushing sound. He needed to relax or- the cut on his lip split back open just as you think this. Jerking away from your touch, the man releases a guttural growl and then something beyond your wildest imagination occurs.

The mans skin seems to melt away, giving way to something new, the same bright green as the hand you saw earlier. His eyes darken to a deep purple that matches the color of the leather coat materializing around him as the suit fades away. Deep colored lines replace soft hair, and new ridges grow along his face, but the look of pain remains. He tries to rise to his feet, create some space between you, but he slips on the splinted leg and falls back onto the couch.

Your first thought escapes your lips without filter. “What are you?”

The man, or what was a man, takes a deep breath before turning to face you again. “I am a Skrull, you may call me Talos. I mean you no harm.”

For some reason, you feel as though you knew that you were not in danger in Talos’ presence. Movement in the corner of your eye causes you to look at his leg, which was still contorting in the transformation process. Talos closed his eyes, grimacing while you assumed he was healing himself.

After a short while, pants closed over the ribbed green flesh, and Talos began to remove the tape attaching the splint to his clothing. Acting quickly, you reached across the table and cut away the far tape, letting the pipe fall to the floor.

Talos slowly turned to you. “You are not afraid of me.” He stated simply.

“You did not harm me.” You reply with a slight smile. Talos returned the gesture shortly. You notice that there is no wound on his head, and that his lip is also healed.

“Your world does not share the sentiment. There are many here who wish to hurt me.” He says solemnly.

You sit up again, mere inches away from Talos. “Some people are going to be afraid of what they don’t understand. There are a lot of… stories we have about other kinds of beings who only want to cause harm to humans. Aliens from other worlds, that sort of thing.”

Talos eyes your collection of films. “I see. Thank you for helping me, then.”

Suddenly feeling ashamed, you sense yourself closing off again, not replying further. A long period of silence follows. You flick your eyes over to glance at Talos and notice that the Skrull also dared a look in your direction. You both look away, but you feel a light pressure on your shoulder.

“The noise you made earlier… It is for comfort, yes?”

You nod, not turning to face him yet.

“Could you make it again? It was… Nice.”

Through a slight stutter, you make the same shushing sound from before, quiet and nervous. Talos does not seem to notice and responds with a deep, reverberating purr. You close your eyes, the sound piercing you in a pleasant way. Tilting your head, you rest your hand against his hand, finding the skin to be smooth and warm.

“Touch is also comforting.” You whisper and dare to lean against the Skrull. Talos moves his hand from the near shoulder to the far, wrapping one arm around you, and then the other, holding you close as he purrs again, lower this time. When he is finished, you make a soft sussing sound, burrowing against his surprisingly soft clothing.

You turn your head to see he has changed into dark fabric robes with rich purple sleeves. He rests his chin in your hair, rubbing along your ribcage. You allow yourself to melt into this being, feeling their strong body heat against your own and their breaths tickle your scalp.

Only a harsh knock against your door breaks you from the moment and you jolt upright, giving an apologetic glance to Talos who has already begun to shift back into the human form in what looks like an incredibly painful process of one skin emerging from within another.

Peeking through the peep hole in your front door, Trix is waiting on the other side with folded arms. Turning back to find Talos settled in, replacing the glasses onto the bridge of his nose, you open the door.

“You never called me!” They shout, then pinch between their eyes with a calming sigh. “Look, just wanted to make sure I didn’t send you home with a murderer.”

You raise up your hands to indicate that everything is fine. “It’s ok, he just has a fractured knee. I’m going to set it after tending to everything else, see.” Stepping aside so Trix can peer in, their face contorts in confusion.

“No one is there.” They say plainly.

You point to the couch in shock. Talos was just there!

“Guess it was just a burglar then. Is anything missing?”

Quickly surveying the room everything seems to be in place aside from the open window leading out to the fire escape. You rush over and jump onto the landing to find it deserted. With a sigh, you return to Trix in the doorway.

“Leg must not have been hurt as bad as you think. Well, I’d lock the door tight tonight. Actually, want to just stay at my place?”

You consider Trix’s offer but decide to decline it in favor of staying home. That night, you reach for ‘Alien’ but find its slot in your shelving empty. A quick check showed that all other VHS tapes were present save that one. You can’t help but laugh to yourself as you decide on something else.

If Talos ever needs somewhere safe to go, you hope he chooses your apartment, and want to be here for him. That night, you lock the door, but leave the window cracked, just in case, and place Alien 2: On Earth on the table.  

**Author's Note:**

> It is up to reader to interpret the emotions felt by you in this, be they platonic or something more.  
> Trix is a gender neutral character, if you see them one way or another that's up to you. Perhaps they too are a Skrull hidden in plain sight...
> 
> This is my first time writing in the MCU, I hope it was enjoyable!~


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